


Failing Clan Lavellan

by Brosca-Pride (Fan_by_Proxy)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Pining Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6182614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Brosca-Pride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inva Lavellan: mother, mage, Inquisitor, and now her clan's sole survivor.  Unprepared to face the grief alone, she must convince the heart of the Inquisition to respect her beliefs and the rites of mourning that they do not generally understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failing Clan Lavellan

     Inva paced the war room, thumb gnawed raw for worry. Leliana’s people had not returned from Wycome and with no fresh reports, all she could do was pace. Josephine had given up trying to distract her, and Cullen did his best to keep out of the way after the initial incident. Just as she was ready to throw her hands up at the slowness of waking life, the Spymaster tapped her shoulder.

     “Inquisitor. We have word from Wycome.” Leliana said softly, a road-weary scrap of paper in her hand. She offered it slowly with an open palm.

     The elf frowned, taking it slowly. Obviously Leliana had already read it; obviously it was bad news. But how bad was bad going to be, that was the question. She opened it carefully, ears hot at the sight of Keeper Istimaethoriel’s hasty script. All heat, all light, all sound disappeared as those short last words made up the end of Inva’s world.

     Her scream was loud and piercing, raw and ugly-naked with hurt. “Inquisitor—” Leliana began, reaching for the elf. “We can still resolve this—” she didn’t know what else to say. What hope could anyone offer in a moment like this, really? The air around the Inquisitor shimmered, as if she was about to burst into flame. Leliana braved another step closer, hand still outstretched in peace. Then the Inquisitor’s temper broke.

     Inva railed, shrieking cries fit for the gods’ furies that tasted bloody and bitter. There was no sense of herself, no sense of the real world. She was only dimly aware of sending the war table end over end, of sending books crashing to the floor and causing a sudden rush of flames as a candle touched the chaos.

     “Inquisitor!” Leliana shouted, moving as close to the maelstrom as she could to try and stamp out the flames. “Inquisitor, _please_! Control yourself!” She pleaded. Cold air filled the room, stinging her eyes and pushing the mess into a little vortex before everything just stopped.

     “Five days—no one—five days—” Inva managed to gasp, chest tight and black spots dancing across her vision. She couldn’t—she had to—there was—it was all a mess and she had to get _away_. “Please? Five days!” she garbled before turning away to throw herself through the nearest door. Running would open her chest back up, would let her get her breath back.

 

     No one breathed a word until the door slammed shut after her.

     “ _What_ was that about?” Josie demanded, quill broken and ink spattered across her chest.

     “The most unfortunate of incidents.” Leliana replied grimly. “We must keep the rest of our people from knowing _this_ has happened.” She gestured to the room.

     “Someone should set a guard on her.” Cullen said sharply, hand on his sword. He opened his mouth to make the accusation, but the withering look Josephine cast was enough to still his tongue.

     “What did she mean ‘no one, five days’, do you think? Can we really afford to be without the Inquisitor’s presence that long?” she asked.

     Leliana knelt, picking up a marker for the Inquisition’s forces from the floor. “We will have to, I think…she must be allowed to grieve.”

     Josephine pursed her lips, unhappy with the idea of losing so much time. But she was not without understanding. “I will see that this is cleared up quietly.”

     Leliana nodded as she rose. “My agents will stay in Wycome. We will find those responsible, for the Inquisitor’s sake.” She cast one more look around the ruined room and left quietly, still cradling the Inquisition marker in her hands.

 

* * *

 

 

     “Gone all gone dead and it’s my fault _all my fault_ I didn’t save them!” Cole bleated, doubled over and wrapping his arms around himself.

     Solas frowned, laying aside the sketches for the next work. “Cole, _Cole_ focus—

     The boy shook his head frantically, comically large hat falling further askew. “Dead _they’re dead it’s my fault!”_ he repeated with a wail.

     “Cole you _must_ focus!” He reached for the spirit to calm and guide it, but it slid through his fingers fine as mist. Solas pursed his lips and left the study; whatever had erupted to interrupt Cole’s quiet would have come with fanfare, and would be easy to find.

 

* * *

 

 

     Inva slammed the bedroom door behind her, making it halfway across the room before her legs gave way and she collapsed to the ground. Cold stone bit her knees, but not even that flare of fresh pain could make her focus. She curled on herself, forehead to the floor, and wailed. There was no stopping the noise, no pushing back the grief in this instance. She had failed her clan, failed her People, failed _her children_ …if the world collapsed in a flash of green, if the damned Mark swallowed her whole right then, she would welcome the oblivion. She would welcome it _gladly_.

     “Inquisitor? I-I-I-I-I c-c-can help you.”

     The quaver, faint as first morning’s light, and the glimmer of a wavering blade. Inva managed—just barely—to bring her forehead off the bedroom’s stony floor. “Cole?”

     The boy-spirit was beside her, on his hands and knees with his cheek nearly on the floor the catch her eye. “I-I-I-I…I can’t help.” He admitted, fat teardrops rolling down his cheeks. “But I want to…” Cole’s lower lip quivered.

     Inva sat up slowly, pushing hair away from her face. “You know, you’re supposed to knock before coming into someone’s room _da’len._ ” The word came unbidden, left her in a rush. Cole made her think so much of Feanir; all elbows and smiles and sweetness.

     “I know—I’m sorry I just—you—” he fumbled for words, blade out of sight. “I want to help Inquisitor.”

     She nodded, patting the space next to her and trying not to sob anew as lanky limbs folded to try and fit close to her side. Inva slid her arm across his shoulders, sitting up a little more on her knees to reach. “You can help me by doing a very special thing for me.”

     “But five whole days Inva? That’s so long to sit and cry alone.” Cole replied, trying to mimic her touch. His arm around her waist was clumsy, heavy, gripping too hard. “You’ll…can’t I help a better way?”

     She didn’t correct his grip; let him clutch and feel that she was solid. “It’s not that long _da’len_. And it’s…very important for me. You see…we have to mourn, sometimes. It hurts, very deep. So deep you think you’ll never heal…but you do.”

     “That doesn’t make sense.” He whispered, pulling off the patchwork hat so he could fit under her chin.

     Inva brushed hair away from his forehead, resting her chin on the light down. “It’s like when we’re hurt in our bodies. When we scrape our knees and cut our fingers. It hurts for a bit, but we heal, and the skin is a little stronger for the next time.” She murmured.

     Cole nestled into the embrace, as he often did. There were times when he was too much spirit, afraid of the solid touch and nervous. Other times he was a boy, craving what had been denied early on in his life. She could not help but treat him as the boy, even as he appeared nearly-grown. “But this isn’t skin or bone, it’s heart. Deep inside, past the whispers and the things you don’t say but you think very hard about the people around you. That doesn’t scar up like skin does.” He countered, voice flat.

     She sighed. “You’re right, it doesn’t. But sometimes, _da’len_ , we have to hurt deep. If we didn’t love anything deeply, we would never hurt this deep. But then we wouldn’t be whole, do you understand?”   Tears burned in her eyes, her nose, threatening to drown her once again. “Do you understand?” Whispered a thousand times into downy hair, cradling and gentle: ‘do you understand _da’len_ , can you understand for me?’ over and over but never again.

     “I’m not your son but you think of me as but it hurts even more now that you can’t go back.” Cole replied softly. “I’m not your son Inquisitor…but you really think of me the way you think on him?”

     She nodded, taking a deep shaky breath. “Yes Cole. You are… _so_ very much like him. I can’t help it sometimes. I’m sorry.”

     He pulled away slowly, carefully, as if fearing she would fall over without him so close. “Don’t be sorry. I like—it’s your softness. Softness that you don’t give to anyone else, the softness you give him. He’s different, not like I’m different, but different all the same and it makes you sad sometimes but you only ever want him to be at peace. Like I want people to be at peace.” Cole put a hand on her shoulder, still heavy and clumsy. “It makes me…feel…like you sometimes understand me.”

     “Sometimes I do.” She managed to smile. “Sometimes I don’t, but that doesn’t make what you feel any less.”

     “And the same for you Inva. Does it _have_ to be five days?” He asks with a worried frown.

     Inva took a deep breath. “Yes _da’len_. You see,” she took his hand in both of hers, rubbing it lightly, “I will sit up all this time, and I will remember the good things about my clan. Their names, what they did, how I loved them. And then, when they’ve all been remembered properly, and the sun starts to come up on the fifth day, I will sing for them all. This way, their spirits can be at peace and go to where we all go in the end without trouble.”

     His fingers curled, gripping her hand tightly. “You don’t have to explain yourself, but you do. Because I make you think of him, and because I don’t know and you want me to know so I’ll trust you.”

     Inva nodded, smiling a little even as fresh tears eked out. “Yes, all of that.”

     “Why can’t we help you? It’s not because we’re not elves is it? Well Sera is but she isn’t but she would care because you care.” Cole tried to wipe her cheeks with his free hand, pushing a little too hard.

     “You’ll help me by doing as I say. Sometimes that’s the best way to help.”

     The worry lines in his face, deep as all the ages for all his youthful looks, gave him an unreal look. “But five days alone, that’s…not safe Inva.” Cole muttered, discontent.

     “I promise, I absolutely utterly completely swear on the ground Mythal trod that in five days, I will be back with you all. Maybe a little sadder for a while, but I _will_ be here for you.”

     Cole’s lips twisted, face awash with expressions all in shades of unhappy. He was trying to martial some better argument and stay within the Inquisitor’s rules; no prying deep for thoughts and words, no pushing too hard against someone’s mind. “How can you make a promise like that?”

     “Because it’s very important. It’s so very important Cole, you can understand that a little?” she worked her hand free of his to cup his face with both hands. His cheeks were still boyishly smooth.

     Cole’s head wobbled, somewhere between ‘yes’ and ‘no’. “If I say no, will I still be like your son?”

     That question dug deep, drew fresh miserable blood. “Oh yes Cole. Yes. Just like him.” Inva whispered. “You would have gotten along, I think, if you had gotten to meet.”

     “He liked the way the water sounded, but not when it was too deep for him to see his feet. Not seeing his feet scared him so you carried him into the rivers even when the others whispered.” Cole’s eyes had glazed over, head tilting so slightly to the left.

     “ _Cole_.” Inva said sharply.

     “I’m sorry Inva. I…I want to help.” He repeated.

     “I promise that you doing as I asked will help me. If you let me do this the way my people do this; if you let me keep our history going, if you let me say goodbye to these people in this special way, then you’re helping. I _promise_.”

     Cole sighed. “I _could_ help more.”

     Inva smiled faintly. “Alright. Then _you_ will be in charge of my herbs for the next five days.”

     He cocked his head. “What?”

     “You’ll have to water them, and sing to them, and make sure the beetles don’t eat all the leaves, while I’m in here. You know how important the herbs are.” She said, picking up the patchwork hat and setting it on his head.

     “Sing to them? I don’t sing very well.” He replied worriedly.

     Inva got to her feet shakily, knees popping in protest. She held her hands out to Cole, pulled him to his feet and fussed over his hat and his seams to set him right. “The herbs aren’t very critical. They just like someone to take time to sing to them.”

     “Is that why it grows so thick around the halla? Because the halla mother always sings to the halla but I guess the grass listens too.” Cole said faintly, letting her fuss and guide him to the door.

     “Yes.” She said firmly, taking him through the doorway. “So you take care of my herbs for five days, while I pray. And I will be greatly helped. Ok?”

     Cole nodded, loose and uncoordinated. “Do you think if I ask the beetles to leave, they will? I don’t want to have to crush them.”

     “I’m afraid not. But maybe you can gather them in a little jar, and we’ll set them free outside of Skyhold when I’m done.”

     “Ok.” Cole moved away from her door, down the hall in retreat with only a few looks back over his shoulder. Inva waited, smiling softly, until she couldn’t see him in the hall anymore.

     Then the tears welled up again; she closed the door quickly, leaning back against it. “ _Ma’lava halani; ma la’suledin na’das…_ ” she whispered to the empty room. If there was any mercy left in the world at all, she would perhaps see some sign that the clan—that her children—would be found by Falon’Din, and guided where they needed to go. Inva moved away from the door slowly, staggering a little on feet that were only just starting to feel again. She stooped to pick up a pillow from the floor and headed for the balcony. Contemplation was best done cushioned, and the next five days would have so little comfort to them beyond that.

 

* * *

 

 

     “Bullshit!” Sera erupted. “Mumsy doesn’t cry, you’re having a go at me.”

     Leliana took a deep breath before answering, intent on not being goaded. “Clan Lavellan is no more, Sera. We have the reports confirming it, if you care to read.”

     The elf made an ugly face, cheeks red and tongue protruding. “Don’t need to see more bad news with my eyes Red, s’not how I live.”

     “She’s asked for the time to mourn, and I am pleading with you not to…to…” what was a tactful way of saying ‘don’t be a brat’? “To attempt to cheer her in your usual manner.” Leliana managed.

     Sera’s mouth gaped, fish-like, for a few moments. Was it in indignation? Protest? Something approaching apology? Neither would know. “Imagine wasting five whole days being elfy.” She rolled her eyes. “If that’s what Mumsy wants, then Mumsy’ll get it I suppose.” She stretched. “Although it’d be better for her to go get pissed in the tavern and then bounce on the old man for a few days straight.”

     Leliana shuddered. “Sera, _please_.”

     The girl grinned wide, showing a fresh chip in her bottom teeth. “What?”

 

* * *

 

 

     Solas’ fingers caught the latch of the door, silencing all sign of his entrance. He did not wish to startle her, even if curiosity bade him break into her solitude. She might have been a statue, had he not seen the breeze lift snaking tendrils of inky black away from her neck. Solas crossed the room quietly, more unsettled to find everything as orderly as ever when she had turned so much rage on the war room. The balcony doors were open, curtains swaying lazily in the breeze. He batted them aside, daring to kneel at her side. Her eyes were closed, breath slow and shallow, lost perhaps in memories. Tears had left salty trails along her cheeks; there was a heavy nobility to this grief. If it would not seem a celebration of her loss, he would call it a beautiful time for her. Solas only _just_ stopped his fingers from reaching out to tuck stray strands behind her ear; instead he settled on breaking the silence. “ _Ir’abelas, lethallan_.”

     Inva did not open her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved up slightly. “I recall saying ‘no one’ for five days.”

     Solas’ eyes roamed her profile, the warmth of her color, the glint of gold on her ear and chin. “A Vigil without a second?”

     She shrugged. “I have to.” Her voice cracked, from tears or disuse it didn’t matter. “There’s no one left _but_ me. I owe them this.”

     It was resolute, the way she said it. He could almost believe that she would last five days awake, without food or drink, in some of the blackest grief imaginable. Solas opened his mouth to speak, but the parting of her lips stopped him.

     “If I keep my eyes closed, I can just see their faces. I can just see our aravels and hear the trees breathe."

     “Then talk with me _lethallan_.” Solas murmured. “Help me see them too, if you like.”

     A small, meager tear slid down her cheek. “The morning I left, I braided my daughter’s hair. Just because it would be a long time before we would meet again.” Inva sighed, a wistful smile cutting deep across her face. “She’s fair-haired, like her father. It’s like weaving gold, over and under and over again. Her pride…” her voice trailed off, clutching the Mark to her chest to hide the flaring green light.

     “She wasn’t too old for that?” he asked, to prompt the conversation further.

     Inva laughed, just a little. “Oh she’s a woman now, vallaslin fresh and dark on her cheeks. I have to remind her that no matter how very grown she gets, she will ever be my daughter. But we compromise…go a little away from the clan so none of her friends will see her old mother in her hair.”

     The mention of the slave-markings made him cringe; that savage and misguided practice should not be spoken of fondly. “And your son?”

     She gave a soft sob and shuddery sigh, hand to her throat to try and stifle it. Solas knitted his fingers together to keep them busy, keep them from grabbing that stifling hand and pressing it to his heart. “He’s my good boy. _Dal’vian_.”

     In his mind’s eye he saw the pair; Inva and her little mirror boy balanced on her hip, at the edge of something great. “He was your second child, yes?”

     “My forever-child.” She whispered. “Gods but it _hurts_ …I swear Solas, I swear, if it meant I would see them again, I would let the Rift eat up the whole sky and come what may. I swear I would.” A bitter laugh slipped past her lips, and she slowly opened her eyes, head turning enough to turn sheepish eyes on him. “I disappoint myself.”

     His breath caught; the guard he had so carefully built up (fueled by imaginations of the grunty, sweating, _abhorrent_ nature of her so-called romance with the horn-head) crumbled to dust. “You grieve. There’s no disappointment in the wild thoughts that catch us when we are wounded deeper than deep.” Solas whispered.

     “You’re being kind.” Her voice cracked. “Even if my children walk with Falon’Din now, I should _still_ live as if they might follow my examples.”

     Solas held her gaze for what felt like several long moments. The whites reddened, the deep brown dulled to sad black, framed with drooping fringe…un-pretty and beautiful all at once. “I will be your Second.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could swallow them.

     Inva reached out, cupped his cheek and traced the line of it with her thumb. Smooth and firm, older but familiar. Not quite her own skin, but a feeling of ‘home’ nonetheless. “ _Ma serranas lethallan…_ but it’s my duty. You…are so dear to offer. I thank you.”

     Solas turned into her touch, laying a hand over hers. He felt the promise of strength, the practiced tenderness, even the faint prickling of magic; everything that was her and then some. Pressing his lips to the roughest place on her palm, he slipped a little more down _lathbora viran_. “I am your Second.” He didn’t let go until she nodded, just barely.

 

* * *

    

     “The hell do you mean, five days? Make some sense Dalish.” Bull barked, taking up the entire end of the Chargers’ usual table.

     She sighed. “Look, Chief, I know it doesn’t make sense—it’s an elf thing, ok? You gotta let her do this the way she’s gotta do this.”

     “Boss set the damn war room on fire, flipped the strategy table but I’m supposed to just leave her alone to…to do _what_?”

     Dalish signed, rolling her eyes as she finished off the last dregs in her mug. “To mourn. She’s sittin’ a Vigil alright? She’ll sit up all day and all night mourning. Get up by about day five, sing one of our horribly sad songs, then go right back to business. It’s a thing we do.” She shrugged.

     Bull rumbled deep in his chest, then slammed his fist on the table. “This is bullshit!”

     “What’re you gonna do? Bust in her room and demand she do her mourning in front of everybody?” the elf demanded. “Look, even if her whole clan _hadn’t_ been shanked, but she’d lost someone, _this is what she’d be doing_. It’s the Way, alright? You wanna do good by her? Be ready on that fifth day. She’s gonna feel like shit-beyond-shit.”

     “Five friggin’ days.” Bull rumbled again, feeling it through his whole body, down to the tankard in his hand. He’d be there on the fifth day alright, that was for guaran-damn-teed.

     Dalish sighed. “It’s a shit thing. You know I’m not a fan of the Way…but I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. Especially not the boss-lady.”

     He squinted, watching the elf’s shoulders slump and her face flush. Krem’s title was catching on; not hard to believe, the way the boss treated them. Chargers were loyal to them who were loyal first, and there weren’t many as quick to be good as the boss. “Real honesty Dalish—you think she’s comin’ out the other side?”

     There was no hesitation to answer. “Damn right.”

     Bull nodded, hoisting the tankard again. He agreed, after all.

 

* * *

 

     The last time he’d watched a Vigil, it had been a glamorous thing: an honoring, with pomp and gold and slaves whipped to bloody tears for show. It had nothing to do with the dead and everything to do with the living; to see how far the ceremony had gone away from that, how humble and genuine it might be…it was not something Solas had counted on.

     That first night, she moved very little. Just knelt out on the balcony as the sun passed overhead and disappeared into darkening skies, refusing most comforts.

     “It will help you stay awake.” Solas urged, forcing the warm cup into her hands, pressing her fingers against it.

     “Truly we are in a desperate situation, if you bring me tea.” She teased faintly.

     “I am your Second.” He repeated firmly, for perhaps the hundredth time that day. “If you are going to be insistent, then I must be equally as stubborn.”

     Inva smiled a little, taking a sip before pressing the cup to each cheek to warm them. “Then we’ll be two bullheaded elves sitting together and arguing.”

     The mention of bulls cooled his feelings just a little. “What do you suppose a Bull would have to say of this?”

     “Hm? Do you mean a bull, or _the_ Bull?” the look she cut him was sharp and knowing. They had had it out about his disapproval of her romance once before, and she had continued to bristle at any second attempts of reproach. “I’ll have to explain myself when this is over, and apologize. But he’s a good man. He’ll understand.”

     “As you say.” Solas replied, attempting to answer without answering.

     She didn’t respond, only sat very still with the cup of tea very close to her face. Just as well; there would be nothing gained from restarting a finished fight.

     A little later, Solas rose to draw the blanket from her bed, to wrap it around her shoulders to fend off the cold. Sometime after that, he found himself beneath it with her, side-to-side and palm-to-palm. He was, he thought, well and thoroughly caught up in the moment. But it was only for a moment; flaring as a candle does in the breeze and burning out shortly after. That thought wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.

 

* * *

 

     “Some of our people are beginning to ask questions. I can quiet them, but the nobles who are demanding audiences are decidedly less patient.” Josie said, arm–in-arm with Leliana under the cover. Rain had started some time during the second night of the Inquisitor’s vigil, and it did not seem inclined to let up.

     “What can we ply them with to make them more patient?” She asked. “Solas claims no progress in spurring her to action, so we are still waiting the original time.”

     “While Cullen recommended boots to backsides, I _think_ we will want to be more gracious than that.” Josie giggled. “He is as subtle as a thorn in the grass.”

     “This is true—” Leliana’s giggle cut short at the sight of Cole sitting out in the rain, holding a small parasol over a few straggly weeds. “What in the Maker’s name?” she sighed. The last thing they needed was Cole going off on one of his odd tangents again.

     Josie obligingly followed her to the boy’s side. “Cole? Whatever are you doing in the rain?”

     He looked up owlishly, wide-brimmed hat doing little to keep the rain away from his face. “I already watered the Inquisitor’s garden, but the sky still tries to help.”

     “I’m sure it will be fine, Cole.” Leliana said gently.

     He shook his head. “I have to help, and keeping watch over the garden while she watches for spirits is how she asked me to help. If the herbs drown, she’ll be sadder and I won’t have helped.”

     “Perhaps we might ask Ser Blackwall to make a-a-a-a ah…a little arbor, for the Inquisitor’s garden. So you won’t have to sit in the rain.” Josephine said sweetly.

     “Ok. But until he does.” Cole smiled. “It’s time to sing to them. I don’t know if they like it, but they don’t hate it.” He looked away from them then, settling into a single-note hum.

     Josephine and Leliana shared a look, and a cautious little headshake. For the time being, it was probably best to let the spirit boy go about his odd business.

 

* * *

 

     “Boss, you’re gonna put another hole in the floor.” Krem said disapprovingly.

     The Iron Bull let his chair thump against the ground again and again. “I’ll put holes where I want’em.” He replied gruffly.

     “I know you miss her Chief—

     “Her who?” The answer dripped spite, and Bull wasn’t even sure who it was for. He’d sat down in the tavern instead of outside her door on advice that didn’t seem to be worth a goddamned thing; meanwhile Solas was camped out upstairs with her, getting into who-knows-what?! He picked a helluva time to relight the fires, and the fact that Bull wasn’t as free to do shit about it as he liked was pissing him off royally.

     Krem rolled his eyes. “Don’t even try that game. Everyone’s missing the boss lady right now.” He lifted his chin in greeting to Maryden, and sat up a little taller on the back of the chair. The Inquisitor would be on him for it, if she were there. ‘No need to put your feet on the seat Krem, I’m sure she’ll see you just fine if you smile for her and tip her plenty’; he could hear it in the back of his head just as clear as day. The smile that always came with it though, was a little less easy to see in his mind just then.

     “Except the egg.” Bull replied bitterly, digging his nails into his bicep, just out of Krem’s sight. “Guess he doesn’t count as people then.” He wasn’t regularly a jealous guy; at least not in the useless kind of way. Feeling helpless wasn’t the Iron-fucking-Bull’s MO damn it!

     “Look, I dunno what’s going on between’em, but he’s not her type.” Krem said confidently. “He’s all faff and words, pretendin’ to know lots. She’s not about that.” He’d seen the Chief with a lot of guys and gals, but there was only one tooth half in his gear. That wasn’t something that’d get broken up over someone who didn’t play on the up-and-up most of the time.

     Bull was quiet for a few moments, taking stock of Krem’s confidence. It wasn’t followed by the usual tells; the kid at least believed what was coming out of his mouth. “How do you know?”

     “Cuz she’s with you. You’re not exactly a wordsmith Chief.” Krem grinned cheekily.

     Bull shook his head, halfway goaded just for the sake of routine. “Roses are red and so’s your ass after I kick it.” He rumbled.

     Krem laughed. “That’s the Chief. Look, it’s another couple of days. Then you two can go yell it out and you know, do the stuff you do. It’ll be alright.” He added.

     Bull snorted, tipping his chair back a little more. He’d put as many damn holes in the damn floor as he damn well wanted, and her Inquisition could damn well pay for it.

 

* * *

 

     The rain cleared somewhere in the third evening, in time for the stars to light up the sky and wipe away the years from her face. Her voice was nearly gone for all the stories that she’d told. The people she’d known, the lives she had lived before the Mark—they were as fantastical to him as the lies of the so-called gods were to her. Solas was, in a few weak moments, regretful that he had not shared this life with her…but he had already said ‘in another life’ and she had agreed to his word. He had no rights to ask for more.

 

* * *

 

     By the fourth morning, weariness outweighed the strength in her body. She leaned against him more, even permitted him to hold the bowl of broth to her lips to sup. “ _Lethallan_ , take in more. You _have_ to take in more.” He could chide, over and over as reluctant sips slid over chapped lips. “Just a little more.” Solas could repeat until the bowl was emptied, telling himself he only meant the broth.

     The Mark stayed dim and quiet, displaying a mercy he would not have thought possible…or maybe her will, even in a weary and delirious state, was that much stronger. It was something to consider later, when his head and arms were less full of _her_.

 

* * *

 

     When the sun started to rise that fifth morning, Inva got to her feet and staggered to the balcony’s railing. There was a flash, a sudden and _stupid_ fear that she would pitch herself over in either grief or weariness. That fear brought Solas to his feet, hand outstretched to stop an ending he had no want to see.

     But then, as slow and graceful as a dancer beginning a _pavane,_ Inva raised her arms.

     Solas’ breath caught in his throat as the first thin notes graced the cold air.

     Her voice grew, fueled by duty and love and things he would have said were all dead in this world. Somehow, there was strength enough in her to sing it twice; to bid both the young and old to rest well in _Uthenara._

 

* * *

 

     As the song fell over Skyhold, those closest to the heart of the Inquisition let loose the breaths they had been holding. Some smiled, went back to their work. Others stopped their work to listen, and even whisper a prayer or two for a people they didn’t know.

 

     Cole was happiest. “She’s coming back to you. And she’ll be glad to see you all grew a little more with my help.” He told the herbs.

 

     Sera chuffed under her breath. “Elfy shite.” She mumbled, pushing the window of her room open just a little bit further…because the room was stuffy. It was too hot; not because she had any interest in some silly elfy singing. Or if she did, it was just to be sure that Mumsy was back from the brink of crazy.

 

     The tavern was dead silent save for some scratching; Maryden was trying to peg the melody as fast as her ears could catch it. There was a glimmer of tears in Dalish’s eye, and she steadfastly refused to look up at the Chief. Bull went to the door and propped it open so everyone inside could get it a little better. Just because.

 

     And Solas was almost certain that had he heard her voice in that dark and dreaming sleep of ages…he would have risen to her bidding then and there without regret.

 

* * *

 

     She held the last note longest, until it wavered into silence. Solas stepped closer, to take hold of her arm and guide her inside to rest properly at least, but she was utterly absorbed. Reaching into the neck of her tunic, Inva brought out her charms: a dull flint head

                                    _Inethara’s very first, shaped by her little hands and never used_

and a wooden halla totem missing a horn

                                    _Féanir’s parting gift, the other horn to be recieved only on her return_

     Inva smiled, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks as she cupped the precious gifts in her hands and whispered to them. Then she began to sing again. “ _El’gara’val’las da’len…”_

 

     Solas hadn’t meant to reach out, to rest his hand on the small of her back. Hadn’t meant to encourage her to lean into him, hadn’t meant to bend his head solemnly and let his cheek rest against black tangles. _He had not meant to be this close_…but he was, and it would make the end even bitterer. But she had no clue, and for the time, he would pretend he didn’t either. “They’re at peace now, I think.” He murmured, when she had finished the lullaby.

     She nodded. “I saw them. Just before the sun rose. With silver aravels and halla in their spring crowns.” Inva murmured, still cradling the charms. “They’ll be well, and I’ll see them again.”

     Solas took a deep breath, and pressed his lips to her temple. _Just_ so it would be easier to put her to sleep, _just_ so she wouldn’t have time to defend against him. “ _Sleep_ , _lethallan_.” There was no thrill, he told himself, to her falling limp in his arms; not a privilege, he said to himself as he carried her inside and laid her on the bed. And there was certainly no reason to give any thought to the idea that he could fit into the space beside her. There was no room and no reason, Solas told himself as he slipped away, catching the door’s lock with his fingertips to avoid any sound that might cause her to stir—cause her to notice his departure.

 

* * *

 

     At Dalish’s behest, Bull waited until the afternoon. Well, about a minute after noon; but that was technically enough. The only reason he didn’t just knock her door of its hinges was because he didn’t want a face full of whatever nasty she’d throw—startling mages was bad for the health, after all, and this was a woman that’d go dragon hunting.

     Despite the best efforts of his crew, the Iron Bull had managed to work up a pretty good head full of mad. Did she think he couldn’t get grief? He could get grief! Didn’t happen often, but he could _get_ it. Then finding out ol’ Chuckles was slipping in and out of there as he pleased—the explanation for _that_ one had better be something.

     Bull let himself into the room same as always, chest full of hot air and readied to loose it with some good old-fashioned angry yelling…but most of his mad evaporated like so much piss on the fire when he got to the bed. Seeing the boss laid out, black-eyed from exhaustion with raw furrows down her cheeks from crying…

     “Shit…” the mutter came out despite his best efforts.

     “Huh?” Inva opened her eyes slowly. “Bull?” Her head was heavy, body aching and the Mark throbbing in time with her heart. “Are you there?” it was a worthwhile question, when you’d been seeing the faces of your lost ones for about two days straight.

     “Yeah _k_ _adan_.” Bull nodded. “I’m here.” He murmured, getting half a cheek on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “Heard you this morning. Sounded uh…sounded good.” He finished lamely; that wasn’t what he meant. But he wasn’t a poet, he was the Iron Fucking Bull—he smashed skulls, not words.

     Inva smiled, melting against him. “I’m glad to see you. I’m glad you waited.”

     “Yeah well…” the headful of mad started riling up again. But it petered out faster than wet _sarqaamek_ at the weakness in her voice. “S’what you needed. I’m about what you need.” He replied, shifting around some more until he was relatively safe on the bed and she was cradled in his arms. “Lost a little meat there Boss.”

     “ _Arlath’ma’vhenan_ …” she murmured, smoothing her cheek against his chest.

     Elvish was a funny language; more about the _how_ -you-say-it over actual words. He knew _just_ enough to get himself in trouble and that was it. But sitting there, taking the end of her hair in one hand and keeping her safe with the other, Bull had a pretty good idea what that whisper was about. “Yeah…yeah, love you too Kadan.” When she was a little better rested, a little more in the room with him, they’d have a talk.

     And maybe latter on, he’d deal Solas a swift punch in the nose.


End file.
